Hired Help

[Hawkins Grime]

Grime stood outside the building for a moment. The neon sign over the window flashed on and off. Whether it was meant to be like that or due to just poor maintenance, it only served to increase Grime's ill disposition. He blinked a few times before looking to the display window.

Herbal chemistry and potions for the health of all. A farce. More like medicine for the mind and the mentally ill. All those things did nothing but give hypochondriacs the perception that they might get better, and thus their mental plague was cured, momentarily, by their mentally imposed cures. Grime knew their uselessness, because even the real regeneratives, bacta, and other medical miracles were useless to relieving the pain that was his life. Only death. Death was a cure. But he was not selfish.

His pale face's demeanor did not change but the skin beneath it curved, the lipless mouth contorting to a painful grin. No. He wasn't selfish at all. Like any philanthropist, he would help spread his cure for life to any and all before he would finally give it to himself.

The crowd moved about him. Like fluid, as if he were a stone jutting from the surface of a river. He moved and waded through the crowd until reaching the door. The patron sitting behind the counter was surprised to actually see a customer during the morning. The regulars came at night, late night.

"Can I 'elp you, mang?"

"Morrolan e'Drein."

"Oh... errr... and you need to see 'im?"

"No. I enjoy saying it as my own form of greeting."

"Oh... errr... he's... back there... last door on the right."

"I know."

Grime continued towards the back, ignoring the clerk now. Stepping into the dingy hall way, he bypassed the doors until reaching the last on the right. His metal hand ran over the panel and the door opened.

=======

Several years before.

"e'Drein? What kind of name is that?"

"Well... uh, Boss, they say 'e's good for the money."

"And that other assassin you mentioned? The candle guy?"

"Grym Kandle, Boss?"

CENSORED pulled on his gloves for a moment, his knee high boots resting on the surface of his desk. He looked bored, his long, dark brown hair tied behind him in what the fashion of Nar Shadda deemed a rogue's knot.

"Right, him. Candle, Drain... Where do these names come from, honestly?

He stood and tossed the datapad to Gaiber. He straightened the lining of his vest and adjusted his collar. CENSORED smirked at himself in the full length mirror across from him. What a handsome devil he was. And in all black too.

"I don't want either of them. It appears that the candle man is too attached to his small time mafia to make himself more available and 'drain' isn't my type. I need a hard core killer, not some jack off for all the trades that can do everything and nothing at once. Skip 'em. I want the next few names in the morning. Call Sera in, I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight."

"Yeah Boss, I'll tell 'er your waitin' on her sweet bod'. Evenin' to ya, Boss."

Gaiber shrugged once he was on the other side of the door. Whatever the Boss wanted, he'd get it in time. He needed someone to kill. Gaiber could kill for him. He did it all the time. But the Boss wanted lots of people dead. Lots of important people. And it was some dangerous business that, killing lots of important people that. And it was never easy. Maybe the Kandle fellow and e'Drein were the lucky ones. Then again, maybe they were missing out. Boss would be the new fist of the galaxy and those slimy slugs, the Hutts, would know you can't run it forever.

=======

The man sitting behind the desk might've been similar to the photo Grime had seen in that other life. He might have and then again, the e'Drein that sat before Hawkins could be a completely different man. Dark brown hair, an unshaven mug, and emerald green eyes made e'Drein's face. The eyes told a lot in Grime's opinion. He had learned enough about reading men to know their eyes were windows to their soul. Only men though; women were a different story.

With his legs up on his desk, Grime could see the buckled boots, the slung belts with knives and a holstered gun. The stiff collar of his white shirt and his brown pants only added to his roguish demeanor. Hawkins took in all of this within his first few seconds of entering the room, everything went into grading the man before him. So far. And all he needed was one failure to be moved from one list to the other. To the list of people that needed to be given the cure for existing.

"Morrolan e'Drein... I have a contract for you."

[Morrolan e'Drein]

With his morning rounds finished, Morrolan dropped his bag in the corner and slumped his slim frame behind his desk. His chair was salvaged, as were most of his belongings, but it was still comfortable and it even rocked a little. Any luxuries here on Nar Shaddaa were more than welcome.

He hadn’t been there long, just long enough to kick his feet up onto his desk, take off his combat gloves, and get settled in, when he heard footsteps approaching down the hall. Guests were few and far between these days, and Krager wasn’t supposed to be back for another hour from his duties, so it was assumed that it was either someone wanting “work” done, or someone trying to impose themselves unasked into his business. He hoped it was the latter, because he could use some excitement today, although it would be a pain to clean the floor again…

As the door slid open with an angry hiss, a deft gesture brought a thin knife into his palm. Its balance was nice, and its weight felt good in his hand. He let his thumb run over the finely textured handle, taking a moment away from the world to collect his thoughts, then coolly readjusted his grip on the handle.

Best to at least let his new visitor announce his intentions before picking the spot where he thought the knife would compliment his wardrobe best…

“Morrolan e’Drein… I have a contract for you.”

Morrolan moved his feet off his desk and kicked a chair out from the other side of his desk for his visitor.

“Have a seat and tell me about it, Friend.”

As the knife slipped invisibly back up his sleeve, one matter pressed on his mind above all others.

He knew he should have eaten breakfast this morning.

[Hawkins Grime]

"I'm not your friend and I'll stand."

Grime didn't need to glance about the room to catch everything that was inside of it. His paranoid induced attention to detail left his peripheral to absorbing the small office while he stood just inside, past the door way.

"You could consider it to have many clauses. The first being very simple. This is the only clause that is negotiable. Because either you accept the entirety of this contract or I'm concluding a conversation with a corpse."

Grime's voice was raspy, like dried skin being peeled from a burn. He knew his stature was nothing to induce nightmares. And it only took once for others to learn that beyond first impressions, to Grime, everyone's life is a nightmare.

"We may negotiate that matter now."

[Morrolan e'Drein]

Morrolan slowly leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands under his chin. His foot slipped under the seat of the previously offered chair and pulled it noisily back against the desk.

“May I remind you sir, that you have come to my office uninvited, and now you have the gall to stand there and threaten me? Either you’re very stupid or tougher than you seem, and I can’t say that I’m not curious.”

So much for the clean floor.

Morrolan’s arms fell from his desk and slipped to hang by his sides. His left hand came up and ran through his hair while the right traveled to straighten his collar as he began to stand. Calmly sidestepping left from behind his desk, he twisted his body so his right hand came across to his left hip. Without flourish the thin blade reappeared into his right fist, and with a strong underhand throw, shredded the air between them.

[Hawkins Grime]

Sparks flew. Grime took one step back and he looked down to the hilt of the knife protruding from his shoulder. Time moved no differently, but to the two men standing across from each other, it moved at their leisure. Grime looked from the exposed mechanicals from his exoskeleton and the rivulets of blood escaping the hardware covering the frail corpse within. And then back to Morrolan.

He's curious?

The room immediately became humid. The air between them appeared as if there were a desert between them and to each other, they were merely mirages.

The pain beget a spike of fear, the initial fear of crossing the concious threshold of pain, and then accepting it with imbittered anger. Anger that quickly convulsed within Grime like a mutation, evolving into hatred. His carcass, what was left of the former grand body it had once been, pulsed with the rushing suffering he now was saturated with. The hatred made as if to implode and gush from his fresh wound, it had been so long since he had taken such a thing from an enemy. And only because he was curious. Hawkins would now indulge the man.

A chair flew in one direction, the desk flipped over, all in a flash of darkness that ended with Morrolan against the wall, a foot off the ground, held up by Grime's metal hands, which despite the increasing temperature in the room, were ice cold. The knife still protruded from the shoulder and Grime's teeth were clenched as he responded.

"Either... you're very stupid... or you're tougher than you seem and you won't die when I snap your fragile neck in my hands!"

From this close proximity, Morrolan could see Grime quite clearly. The pale face was so perfect and yet from here it was distinguishably not real. The eyes behind it though were real, and at this moment, the bloodshot irises weren't vibrant blue as per usual, but a sickly yellow color. The teeth behind the thin lips were perfect as well, not even the tounge that became visible when Grime gasped for air looked organic. That was as much as e'Drein could observe before Grime made a noise derived of his rage, launching Morrolan upside down and across the room.

[Morrolan e'Drein]

Sometime in the second that he was inverted, sailing across what used to be his office, Morrolan remember the weapon that he bore in his hand. As his visitor had him hanging out like a piece of drying shaak meat, he had the presence of mind to reach behind him and quickly grab his slugthrower from his holster.

So there he floated, as his mind seemed to pause the world. In his eyes, he saw the man that was his thrower, and he was keenly aware of the wall that the throwee, namely himself, was quickly approaching. His response came instinctually, as the slugthrower went up between them and rained 3 shots at the dark mass in his vision. This was all right before he felt his momentum stop.

The wall just happened to be harder than he was.

Unfortunately, he felt the impact just as he had envisioned the flight, in slow motion. Morrolan could feel his bones pressured to break, and his muscles stretching as he hit the wall back first. The first blow to his head was enough to make his eyes go white, and his ears to ring. But his body appreciated the sudden drop to the floor, upside down, even less. He hit the ground harder than he would have expected, landing neck first and rolling to his left, coming to rest on his back; slugthrower ejected in an unknown direction.

[Hawkins Grime]

Hawkins' cry of enraged surprise matched the timing of the loud impact to his armor plated chest. He staggered back several steps and then unleashed another wretching noise of pain as the second round hit him. The third went wild but it didn't matter, Grime was already on the ground, in the fetal position holding his stomach where the second round had impacted with the set of plates covering it. He groaned as he rolled over, the pain resonating in his chest. He continued to roll over onto his hands and knees and proceeded to cough and hack until blood splattered in a puddle in front of him. Reaching for his hat, he slowly stood, dark red drool sliding down his chin and neck, fresh blood still dripping from his shoulder, the plates on his chest and stomach dented severely, the slugs lying on the ground, crumpled after images of their previous forms.

His free hand moved to the bleeding shoulder and Hawkins wrenched the dagger loose from its lodged position in the soft flesh, exposed from his torn exoskeleton. Blood splattered, dripping from the knife and down his arm. It had been some time since anyone had injured Grime this badly. In the last two years, he'd either been the first to strike or the only one to land a blow. He wasn't fast on the draw, Grime was merely ruthless and his methods were more direct than most would reason safe. Even in his state though, e'Drein might've made the wounds, but e'Drein was still far closer to crossing the threshold into the next life. Grime dropped the knife and took some staggering steps toward the man on the floor.

"e'Drein... Now that I have... your attention..."

The edge of Grime's longsword rested across Morrolan's neck. The sword had been sheathed and strapped to his back, beneath his cape. Now it was resting firmly in the grip of his good hand, his eyes staring down into e'Drein's.

"Are you willing... to hear the rest of the contract?"

[Morrolan e'Drein]

With his pulse pounding loudly in his ears, Morrolan barely made out the visitor’s inquiry. The chemicals rushing through his veins had turned the sharp pains into dull aches. He thought about moving, but his labored breathing and the gleaming sword under his throat advised him otherwise. He looked into the other mans face which he found staring at him, only to see that the once inhumanly stoic expression had twisted into a beastly snarl. Morrolan’s eyes traveled over to the man’s shoulder, blood dripping slowly down his arm to a small puddle on the floor. Past the puddle he could see his slugthrower against the adjacent wall.

So that’s where that went…

The standing man nudged the prone figure with his boot. Apparently Morrolan was taking too long responding.

Unfortunately, choices for this kind of situation are severely limited. He clearly didn’t have the upper hand, which was slightly unnerving, so answering in the most agreeable fashion seemed logical.

“You win. I’ve got no objections to listening to you, just move that blasted sword.”

[Hawkins Grime]

"You'll accomplish... any task I give you... or die trying. You're my man... until the end. And for such unquestioned loyalty you live... and will live well... by the end of things..."

Grime hissed in a breath as he stepped backwards, lifting his blade away slowly. Blood dripped to the ground freely from his wounds and Hawkins could taste it in his mouth, that feeling like you needed to swallow but never quite could.

For the moment, he wasn't promising e'Drein much, but the life or death option would keep the man on board long enough to see the rewards that would come from it all. He almost laughed if not for the resonating pain. Oh what rewards were to come.

"Get up... And don't bother fighting anymore, I can... read your mind so... don't waste my time... We've got business.. elsewhere... We're leaving now... I'll finish the finer details... of your contract later."